


Walk on Memories

by jongdaesang (d10smessi)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, Angst, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-06 10:20:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11598618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d10smessi/pseuds/jongdaesang
Summary: Famous actor Do Kyungsoo suddenly has supermodel Kim Jongin as his love interest in a controversial film and their past spills over the script as heartaches from years ago catch up to the two of them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this probably contains inaccuracies. i know shit about film making and i barely have the attention span to watch an actual film. 
> 
> supposedly, this was written for fun at 7k words and then i went on a short vacation to the countryside, with little to no phone signal, and the entire thing ended up having ~20k words (unless i edit the remaining 10k, add or delete here and there). anyway, have the first part because the next one is about to be overwhelming (for me, i don't have the energy to think about the remaining plot line).
> 
>  **EDITS:** hanwoo to kangwoo (i didn't realize it meant meat. thanks kiara) and the rating change

 

It starts with a dream—as most things in Kyungsoo’s life do.

 

He was twenty, on the cusp of adulthood, and he had yet to make a mark in the industry. Laughter would escape in between his lips, boyhood carelessness apparent on the way he would throw his head back. He would stay awake late at night and he would practice his lines so they were natural even if he was only filming for a low-budget daytime soap with other actors and actresses trying to break in the business.

 

He remembers his manager calling him, frantic, voice stuttering on his name and on the “I have good news for you.” Kyungsoo has been on break in the set of a high-production film and he has been watching a top actor deliver his lines with the perfect intonation and emotion, face not betraying anything. He has been nothing but a glorified extra then but management has latched on to the opportunity like leeches. Kyungsoo did not complain, taking the opportunity to rub shoulders with the finest in the world of acting.

 

He thinks of himself crying in the bathroom of the set, tears streaking on his face like he was in front of the camera—except he was not and Kyungsoo has been sobbing for five minutes before the senior actor has found him. The man has looked worried and Kyungsoo has given him a gummy smile, saying, “I got a lead role for a movie.”

 

In retrospect, it sounds silly now. The other man has trophies and awards under his name but he sounds like he has won another when he congratulated Kyungsoo sincerely, bringing him in a big hug and almost pulling him off of the ground. 

 

Kyungsoo remembers being _so happy_ and then, Kim Jongin.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_“Hi,” Kyungsoo said, standing up and extending one of his hands to offer to the other boy. It was their first read-through and the second lead, Jongin, was sitting in front of him. The boy was hunched in on himself and Kyungsoo thought he looked smaller like that, even at almost six-foot tall. He added, “I’m Do Kyungsoo.”_

 

_Jongin accepted the handshake, standing up, and his hands are big and warm in Kyungsoo’s—soft, too, like his. His hold was firm but it was nothing menacing. It was solid, brave, but there’s a hint of tentativeness with the way he shook Kyungsoo’s hand, like he’s trying to figure out what kind of person Kyungsoo was from the way he would grip other people’s palms._

 

_He pulled his hand away, smiling shyly, and said, “Kai—uh—Kim Jongin.” The boy bent his head low and his left hand was raised on his nape, rubbing on the skin there. His lips are pulled crooked, lending him an innocent charm to go with his droopy eyes. “Please call me Jongin. Kai’s the name I use for modeling.”_

 

_Kyungsoo’s eyebrows rose up and he really should have expected that from the other boy. A model. He ran his eyes discreetly on the taller boy’s form and Kyungsoo might not have the eyes for fashion but he could see why. Jongin, underneath the apprehensive demeanor, was all long legs and lean frame. His jawline was strong._

 

_He smiled wide, eyes crinkling, and replied, “Then call me Kyungsoo, Jongin. Please take care of me from here on.”_

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_The movie was the coming-of-age story of Kangwoo, Kyungsoo’s character. He was a lonely boy who breathed routines, following his parents and taking the path that they had already carved for him the moment he was born. Kangwoo met Shikyung, the funny transferee with a knack for rebellious tendencies, and his life was thrown out of its meticulous order._

 

_It was a little like Kyungsoo and Jongin. Sometimes, Kyungsoo felt like he was not acting. It was the middle of March and they were bundled up in a playground where Kangwoo would scream all his frustrations out to a willing Shikyung. Afterwards, the taller boy would pull him into a large hug and Kangwoo would sob his heart out, hiccuping barely intelligible words, as Shikyung ran his hands on the smaller’s back and they would fall to the ground in a heap._

 

_They were both on a break, the director calling for one before the they had to do the scene all over again. Kyungsoo’s face had already been retouched with makeup and he’s sitting down on one of the benches, looking at the bustling staff fixing the lights. Outdoor sets were notorious for being finicky._

 

_Jongin sat beside him and their thighs are pressed together. A pleasant tingle went through Kyungsoo like low-voltage electricity. One of Jongin’s arms was slung languidly on Kyungsoo’s shoulders and he pulled the older boy closer, as if there was still any distance between them._

 

_“Do you think,” Jongin broke the silence, “that Shikyung is in love with Kangwoo?”_

 

_Kyungsoo startled and he snapped his neck towards Jongin’s profile. The boy was looking at nowhere, maybe at the people who were wiping down the slides or maybe the maintenance crew checking if the bolts were properly screwed on the large lighting fixtures. Jongin was clenching his jaw hard._

 

_He averted his gaze, returning the question, “Do you think that Kangwoo is in love with Shikyung?”_

 

_“Maybe. They have a lot of homoerotic sexual tension in the film.” Kyungsoo heard the smile on Jongin’s voice. “Maybe not. I think it is all up to people’s interpretation.”_

 

_Kyungsoo leaned his head on Jongin’s shoulder but stopped himself from turning his face on the crook of the taller man’s neck. Instead, he placed his hand on Jongin’s knee and started drawing patterns on the light blue jeans._

 

_He asked again, after he had written the character for first love, “What do you think? What’s your interpretation, Jongin?”_

 

_The taller man bent low and Kyungsoo’s breath hitched in his throat. His heart pounded in his chest rapidly and his stomach churned at the close proximity. Jongin smelled faintly of sweat and the cologne that was given to him in one of his shoots._

 

_With a soft smile, Jongin said, “I played Shikyung like he was in love with you.”_

 

_He closed his eyes and a breeze passed, carrying with it the air that Jongin stole from Kyungsoo’s lungs with just his words. He understood what Jongin was talking about._

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Kyungsoo shoots up from the bed, panting. He places his hand on his chest and he takes a deep breath and then another. He rakes his eyes through the room he’s in and he releases a relieved sigh when he sees familiar white walls and monochrome furniture. A framed photo of him from the Cannes is hanging on the wall.

 

_Of all days to dream of Kim Jongin_ , he thinks. He shakes his head to rid of the fog from the remnants of his light sleep and there’s a customary pang in his chest from the thought of the younger man. Jongin has permanently engraved his mark on Kyungsoo that the heartache of five years ago is nothing but a ghost that is always haunting a home he cannot move out of.

 

He scoots to the edge of the bed and he lets his feet hang over the floor. Goosebumps rise on his bare legs and Kyungsoo shivers from the chill of being alone in a cold apartment. He runs his hand through his messy hair and he is once again reminded of the perks of having shorter locks when he has no knots to untangle. He remembers doing that once, to Jongin, untwisting the long mess of dyed brown hair one summer night when they’re both half-naked in bed and exchanging giggles.

 

“Stop thinking about him,” Kyungsoo reprimands himself. “He’s gone. He has his own life.”

 

He repeats the mantra inside his head like it is truer if he says it five more times rather than the usual three. Kyungsoo puts on his indoor slippers and he rubs his tummy with his right hand, sneaking a hand underneath his large sleep shirt. He makes his way to the lone wooden table in the corner of the room, light stained, and he removes the needle from the grooves of the record. He replaces the large disk inside the sleeve and slides it among the shelved collection underneath. Kyungsoo runs his hand on the cold of the phonograph before he walks away.

 

He gets out of his bedroom quietly and he is not surprised to hear puttering inside his kitchen. He calls out, “Minseok-hyung?”

 

“Yeah?” His manager pokes his head out, smiling distinctly at him. “Morning, Kyungie.”

 

“Morning,” he grumbles, plopping down on the breakfast bar. “What am I having for breakfast?”

 

Minseok clicks his tongue but he has long been used to Kyungsoo’s moods in the mornings. “You’re on a diet so unsweetened black tea, whole wheat toast with almond butter, and egg whites and spinach omelette.”

 

Kyungsoo sticks his tongue out. “I hate dieting. Isn’t it my cheat day yet?”

 

“You just had your cheat day two days ago,” Minseok reminds with a small laugh. “And it can’t be helped. Life of a celebrity and all that.” 

 

His manager shrugs, placing the large plate with two toasts messily covered with a light coat of almond butter. The eggs are piping hot, looking appetizing with a garnish of chopped spring onions, and the large mug of tea is still steaming. Minseok has his own mug with freshly brewed coffee.

 

“I want coffee too,” he tells the older man.

 

“No can do, sweetheart,” Minseok replies with a shake of his head. “Your stomach might act up and we have the first meeting with the main cast of _Walk on Memories_ today.”

 

“Oh!” Kyungsoo perks up, chewing on the piece of toast and licking the almond butter from his lips. “Right. I almost forgot about that.”

 

The smile on Minseok’s face does not disappear and it turns into something more indulgent. The older man leans on the bar, says, “It’s your first gay film—and a controversial one at that. Are you excited?”

 

“I am,” Kyungsoo answers as sincerely as he can. He clutches the mug of tea with both of his hands, enjoying the warmth seeping from the porcelain to his palms and fingers. He takes a delicate sip and the hot drink settles pleasantly in his stomach, creating heat in the pit of his gut that hugs him from the cold of the early morning and lonesomeness.

 

Kyungsoo sets the mug down and he takes a large bite of the omelette, letting the subtle flavor to burst on his tongue. Swallowing, he adds, “I hope I do well. Director Kim has put a lot of faith in me.”

 

“Kim Junmyeon has picked you for a reason.” Minseok reaches for his head, ruffling his hair. “It’s cute that you still get nervous after all this time.”

 

Kyungsoo huffs, “Of course.” He plays with the fork on the plate of eggs, whispering softly, “My acting needs to be perfect in front of the camera.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Their first cast meeting for _Walk on Memories_ is in one of the offices—a large conference room with a long table and a projector.Minseok makes a beeline towards the breakfast spread and Kyungsoo clicks his tongue fondly when his manager stuffs a croissant in his mouth. He spies some of the other actors whom he’s familiar with—Oh Sehun, Byun Baekhyun, girl group member Irene, and some others he has not met previously.

 

Kim Junmyeon is sipping something from a travel mug and Kyungsoo, from rumors surrounding the young director, wonders if it’s spiked coffee. Junmyeon likes his served Irish, with just enough kick to get lucky so early in the morning.

 

“Good morning, Director Kim,” he greets, bowing low. The older man makes a pleased sound and, setting his drink down, stands up to bow back.

 

“Call me Junmyeon, Kyungsoo,” he admonishes. The director squeezes his shoulder in encouragement, gesturing for Kyungsoo to sit down on his right. The seat across of the actor is still empty.

 

“Okay, Junmyeon” Kyungsoo answers with a laugh, “And, by the way, where is my love interest?” He tilts his head to the right when the director’s expression turns apologetic.

 

“Oh, Kyungsoo,” Junmyeon leans forward and he links his long fingers together. “He said he’ll be late. Did Minseok not tell you?”

 

Just in time, Kyungsoo notices Minseok walking towards him, sitting on the chair beside the actor. He is squeezing a generous amount of hand sanitizer on his palms, rubbing them together.

 

“Minseok-hyung,” Kyungsoo turns, a little accusing. “You didn’t tell me my co-star will be late.”

 

“Really? I thought I told you?” The manager puffs his cheeks out. “You’ll be here earlier than the call time anyway.”

 

Junmyeon laughs softly across them. He stands up from his seat, saying, “Please help yourself to some food. And I’m sorry you have to wait, Kyungsoo,” before he goes to talk to the scriptwriters.

 

Once the director is out of earshot, Kyungsoo directs his stare to his manager. Impressed, he asks, “Just who exactly is my love interest?”

 

Minseok smirks like a triumphant cat, “Interested?” His tongue rolls the word longer and the curve of his mouth tells a different meaning to the word.

 

“Curious,” Kyungsoo retorts, tamping down whatever misconceptions are forming inside the older man’s head. He is not the type to fraternize with other cast members—except, Kyungsoo thinks bitterly, _him_.

 

“It’s not like you to be.” Minseok eyes him quizzically, a little speculative, like he knows something Kyungsoo does not. 

 

The actor checks his wrist watch and it is five minutes past call time. He says, “Who he is has been hush-hush but this person can make me wait.”

 

There is nothing arrogant in Kyungsoo’s voice. It is a matter-of-fact statement, a nonchalant and honest observation. Do Kyungsoo is almost an institution in the acting industry at twenty-five. His co-star, whoever he is, must have a lot of weight to hold back the first meeting in a film directed by Kim Junmyeon and starred by Kyungsoo himself.

 

Minseok shrugs his shoulders, leaning back on his chair comfortably. Managers are as good as their charges. Crossing his legs together, he comments, “I heard they really wanted him for the role. The scriptwriters kept on insisting that they based the character on his visuals.”

 

Kyungsoo raises his eyebrows. His character’s love interest in the movie is a carefree dancer whom he loves from afar, over the years, even after his heart has been broken repeatedly by the same man just by his mere existence. It’s a movie, Kyungsoo thinks, that hits too close to home.

 

“Now I’m _more_ curious on who he is,” he says, fiddling with the cuff of his jacket before sliding his hand on the table. He taps his blunt nails on the wood in a rhythm from long ago and Kyungsoo tries to shake the feeling of dread seeping through his skin. The dream from hours ago disturbs him upon remembrance of how he has to be towards his co-star in _Walk on Memories_. 

 

Kyungsoo thumbs the script placed on the table in front of him. Softbound with a cover the color of clear spring skies, it's an unassuming piece of condensed heartbreak and homesickness for a person spanning an entire full-length movie. He opens it to the first scene and he traces his index finger through the words typed on paper.

 

The movie will see through Hwandong’s eyes—watered down technicolor of sadness and longing—as he follows Lee Jiwon, the famous premier danseur for the Ballet National de Marseille andHwandong’s ex-someone. He will film the younger man for a documentary—quiet loneliness overflowing through the cracks of fame and status, a twenty-four year old dancer in the city of Marseille with broken bones and aching joints. The entire thing is an inception of sorts, Kyungsoo thinks, as he imagines the cameras trained on him as he himself trains a camera to his co-star. Kyungsoo will have to be filmed like he is still in love with Jiwon just as he tries to capture the other man in the frames of wistful passion within the limited seconds interspersed with the idyllic teenaged years of former lovers just outside of Seoul.

 

Kyungsoo wets his index finger, a bad habit he can’t let go of, as he turns the pages. He briefly stops when he reaches the opening scene of the movie. Hwandong will say, voice filtering through a grainy and muted video of Jiwon on stage doing a pirouette.

 

He mouths the characters neatly printed on paper, “This is a story of two boys who lost each other and two men who find themselves again so they can stop roaming the streets in the dark.”

 

Kyungsoo repeats it twice, trying different inflections and tones, attempting normalcy and trying to bring out Hwandong from the recesses of Kyungsoo. When he’s satisfied with the delivery—soft voice but resolute, with a little hint of begging dying on the tip of his tongue just before it turns into a full plea, he starts to flip through the next pages languidly, His lines are already highlighted in banana yellow and his eyes flit through the annotations and the small doodles he has drawn on the empty margins in bright red ink. Kyungsoo doesn’t like scripts that seem too impersonal. Besides, Hwandong appears to be the type of man to draw caricature of puppies on his notes. 

 

He continues his perusal of the script, head cradled by his hand and his elbow on the table. The room has morphed into a tuned out space, a vacuum of impenetrable silence. Kyungsoo narrows his eyes when he sees a penguin-shaped sticker on the right corner. 

 

It is Hwandong and Jiwon at night, in the danseur’s studio apartment in the port city, making love after so many years of separation and so many days of tension boiling over into frustration. It begins with lust, clacking teeth and dirty words, before morphing into gentle caresses as instincts and years of abandonment slot through the holes carved by cheap sexual attraction.

 

He’s about to turn it to the next page again when he feels Minseok’s hand tapping his right shoulder. He breaks away from his concentration and he gives his manager a questioning glance. The older smiles apologetically, throwing, “Your co-star is on his way up.”

 

Kyungsoo closes his script shut and he pulls his tailored jacket straight. “Presentable?”

 

Minseok grins at him, giving him two thumbs up and adding, “Behave, Kyungsoo.”

 

The actor gives the manager a small nod, a serene smile taking over his soft features. When is Do Kyungsoo ever not behaved, impolite?

 

He hears the door swing open and he feels something shift when silence overtakes the entire conference room. Kyungsoo stands up from his seat and he hears someone say, “We’re sorry for being late. The traffic is horrible and Jo—”

 

Kyungsoo freezes.

 

It is like being shot in the gut. The bullet goes through Kyungsoo’s stomach and lodges itself somewhere on his insides, leaving him bleeding. It starts with pain and then, labored breathing. He sees the other man first or maybe he hears the words he says.

 

“Sorry for being late, Director Kim,” Jongin apologizes, bowing perfectly. His voice does not sound the same. It is slightly deeper, raspier—maybe Jongin is a smoker. It is a perfectly horrible practice for horribly perfect supermodels living in hotel rooms. 

 

Kyungsoo’s ears buzz with the roars of his pulse and he barely hears Junmyeon say, “It’s no matter. Meet your Hwandong,Jiwon—Do Kyungsoo.”

 

He plasters on a smile, reaching for the acting skills he has been lauded for many times. His faux expressions have been given awards, high accolades, but Kyungsoo cannot force a genuine-looking smile in the face of Kim Jongin. Jongin who—he has been slowly realizing—looks good, different, stronger, taller and broader than the lanky nineteen year old from Kyungsoo’s fever dreams. His leather jacket hugs the wide breadth of his shoulders and his jeans stretch to accommodate mile-long legs.

 

Kyungsoo tries to breathe properly but the air comes short, flaming. His hands close into tight fists and he digs blunt fingernails on his soft palm, tethering his consciousness to the present with the pain of reality—from his nails embedded on the thin skin, from Jongin.

 

“It has been a long time, Jongin.” He steels himself, guards and hackles going up, and manages a neutral greeting without hiccuping. “I was not aware that I will be acting alongside you.”

 

Jongin also looks like all his mental faculties have stopped. Kyungsoo momentarily feels delight in knowing that he is not the only one thrown out of the loop. 

 

Junmyeon, oblivious to the tension, interjects with a wave of his hand. “It’s a little last minute. We really wanted Jongin to play Jiwon in the film. We heard of his background in ballet and we also have an excellent teacher and body double for him.” Turning to Kyungsoo, he asks with a quirk of one impeccable eyebrow, “You’ve been in a movie before, right? _Spring Blooms in Winter_?”

 

Jongin wretches his eyes from Kyungsoo’s form and he turns to Junmyeon, replying politely, “Yes. I played Shikyung and he played Kangwoo. It was released five years ago.”

 

Kyungsoo grins, predatorily, bitterly, gritting out, “Jongin left to become a model abroad two weeks after, if I remember correctly.”

 

The model returns it with a piercing look and Kyungsoo resists the urge to shrink in on himself. Jongin’s eyes are minutely narrowed into intimidating slits. The younger man has that quality on him—stern and stoic behind the puppy-like demeanor of his youth. He says, staring at the actor direct in the eyes with painful honesty twinkling on his dark irises, “My modeling career took off after leaving Korea. I don’t regret it one bit and I’ll do it again.”

 

Kyungsoo’s heart clenches in his chest and it feels odd to think it has stopped beating when it’s ramming on his chest, threatening to break free and shatter in a million pieces on the ground. He does not hear _Korea._ Instead, his mind fills the spaces with his name and suddenly, it makes a lot of sense again—receiving no replies from Jongin, being left in the fluttering wind like a lone kite in summer, seeing news of the man walking Chanel and Prada and Armani. 

 

“Of course,” Kyungsoo breathes out, voice even and trying to maintain cheerfulness. His hands twitch on his sides and he longs to grasp Minseok’s hand in his so he can squeeze it in comfort. He shoots Jongin a smile that does not reach his eyes or his ears, soft and proud but resentful. “I haven’t congratulated you on that, Mr. Asia’s First Love.”

 

Jongin’s eyes look resolute but his face falls and turns vaguely apologetic when the words have escaped from his mouth. Kyungsoo sees the younger man’s left hand move towards him, sighing in relief when Jongin draws it back. The other man sounds pleading when he says, “Kyungsoo, I—”

 

The actor shakes his head, cuts off, “You’ve held us enough already. I think we should begin now.”

 

Just like that, the bands of real life snaps in Kyungsoo’s mind. His senses catch up to him, feeling like finally playing a paused movie for a long time, as he notices the movements of the staff around the room. There are eyes trained on them but none of them are suspicious, perhaps curious. Sehun and Baekhyun, former co-stars and almost close friends, are speculative in their stares. Kyungsoo doesn’t remember telling them his past relationship with Jongin—even Minseok has no idea, though Kyungsoo supposes the man has his theories.His manager’s thin lips are twisted and his face is schooled into something Kyungsoo cannot discern. 8Junmyeon’s head is tilted, quietly observing them like his eyes are also lenses of his film camera.

 

“Well, then,” Junmyeon claps his hands. “Let’s all sit down. We have a lot to discuss and, if possible, I want to hear the both of you read through some of the scenes.”

 

The cold washes over Kyungsoo and he gives in to the urge to clasp his hand in Minseok’s. His manager squeezes it and the heat calms Kyungsoo down, anxiety lowering and the jitters forming under his skin subsiding. He lets go and he sits upright on the chair across from Jongin. The man’s presence occupies the entire room and Kyungsoo can feel other people’s eyes search for the model.

 

Junmyeon begins speaking and before long, a flurry of words are flying all over the conference room. Kyungsoo gives his opinions and he tries not to look put off every time Jongin says something. Baekhyun lightens the atmosphere with his jokes and Kyungsoo lets the easy way the other actor’s antics bring him a semblance of comfort. 

 

They have been at it for almost forty-five minutes, project briefing laden with video clips and photographs. The actors’ schedules are ironed out smoothly and effectively and Junmyeon has been smiling all throughout the meeting. Before long, the director turns towards the main leads, explicitly addressing them both.

 

The room turns quiet and the interest is palpable when Junmyeon says, “Can you two read through,” Junmyeon glances down at the open script book in front of him, “page 102. I want to see how you both deliver Hwandong and Jiwon’s confrontation. It’s an important part in the characters’ development and the chemistry between the two of you will make or break the scene.”

 

Kyungsoo flicks the paper until he’s on the page labeled 102 on the bottom center. The familiar text is highlighted in yellow and he gets comfortable in his seat, pushing away from the table so his script is resting on his lap. From this distance, the characters are slightly blurred, enough that the black ink looks like scribbles amidst the sea of bright sunshine color. Kyungsoo clears his throat and before something inside him _click,_ he feels the thick interest permeate the room from the cast and the actors themselves. 

 

It has been so long since Do Kyungsoo and Kim Jongin have acted opposite each other after the blockbuster cult classic _Spring Blooms in Winter_. He steals a glance at Jongin and the other man has his script on the table, right hand on the page with his index finger moving aimlessly on the opened page.

 

He sees Jongin take an inhale of air and Kyungsoo mimics the other man’s action. Jongin opens his mouth, and he allows the deep hollowness of the younger’s voice envelop the existence of Kyungsoo to bring out Hwandong.

 

“I-I’m sorry,” Jongin—Jiwon—stutters. His index finger stills on the page. “Hwandong, I did not mean to leave you the way I did.”

 

Kyungsoo looks at the page, sees nothing, and says, “But you did, Jiwon. You left me.”

 

“We were young!” Jongin explodes, voice cracking in the end. “We were eighteen and stuck in a miserable place.”

 

Kyungsoo hitches his breath, replies softly, “But that was our home. That was where we grew up together. I would bring you to the fields and you would remove your shirt because you hate sweating through them,” he pauses, in Kyungsoo’s notes this is where he will reach his hand to cradle Jiwon’s jaw, “and I would have my camera so I could take pictures of you dancing barefoot and half-naked.”

 

Jongin shakes his head and he releases a frustrated huff. “That was your home, Hwandong. Those were the memories of your life.”

 

Coldly, Kyungsoo—Hwandong—retorts, “And the memories of your life were?”

 

Jongin pauses and he bites his lips, hesitant. “France, Marseille. Wooden floorboards and mirrors. Metal handrails. The smell of muscle relaxant. I—Hwandong, I loved you. I loved you so much.”

 

“Loved,” Kyungsoo scoffs. “You loved me, Jiwon.”

 

“I don’t—Hwandong, please,” Jongin gasps, his breath comes short. “I loved you years ago but I loved dancing more than I loved you. Don’t hold that against me. I had a dream, Hwandong.”

 

Kyungsoo feels the inevitable tears well up and he is not sure if he is still hearing Hwandong or if he is already hearing Kyungsoo spill from in between Jongin’s plump lips. This is so funny, he thinks. A fucking farce, English tragedy in the stages of comedy.

 

“You had a dream. I get it. You had a dream, Jiwon, and it was not me. Hell. I was not even part of it.” The derisive chuckle escapes before he can help it. He says, “If you’re trying to make me feel better then you are doing a shitty job at it.”

 

“I’m not,” Jongin hangs his head. “You rejected me, Hwandong. I came to you—asked for you. I chased you but you ran away. I wanted you there after. I went and found you. But you hid from me again.”

 

“Because I was convenient. You were used to me. You wanted me there only when you were on top. I did not want to be a pretty accessory on your hand, Jiwon. I wanted to be my own person after you left. Do you expect me,” Kyungsoo grits his teeth and suddenly, he is not certain if this is still Hwandong speaking, “to fall into your bed because you know how to say sweet things on my ears and you know how to move your hips _just so_?”

 

He raises his head and, this time, he looks straight at Jongin. The man is red in face. Kyungsoo has improvised. There is nothing about falling into bed written on the script. No one dares to break the exchange. The older actor clutches the script on his lap, nails forming crescent marks on the thin paper.

 

“Answer me,” Kyungsoo says coldly. His eyes are wet with tears but his lips are pulled into something razor-sharp, cold and indifferent.

 

“No,” Jongin says. His shoulders are tense and his words shake. Kyungsoo marvels, momentarily, at the sheer power, anger, tightly coiled within the marble of Jongin’s face. “No, I did not. You were with another man then. I asked for you in Cannes. I had a white box filled with blood red roses.”

 

Kyungsoo shakes his head, “Roses do not fix everything, Jongin.”

 

“You were with another man!” Jongin accuses, shuffling closer. His almond eyes are narrowed into a glare. 

 

“You were three years too late,” Kyungsoo spits out. Jongin laughs and he feels chills go down to the ends of his toes.

 

“I was, wasn’t I? I was always late when it came to you,” Jongin says, rueful grin on his pretty lips. “I was late when I came to your premiere. Twice. I’d fly to Korea to watch some of your movies, Kyungsoo.”

 

The air in Kyungsoo’s lungs feels like it’s being set on fire. His mouth quivers and his fingers start shaking. His chest is heaving up and down. No one is saying a thing.

 

Jongin closes his eyes, directs a gaze at Junmyeon, asking softly, “Can we take a break?”

 

The actor does not wait for the director’s answer, standing up from his seat. The chair scrapes the floor with a loud screech and he bolts right out of the door, pushing the glass entrance with both his hands in front of him.

 

The tears in his eyes are all Kyungsoo’s and none of Hwandong’s.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_Jongin rolled Festival de Cannes on his tongue expertly. The lilt of the word and the nasal quality of the syllables were familiar from years of pronouncing brands and greeting the pompousness that was the Paris Fashion Week. Jongin was in head-to-toe Tom Ford, a personal joke from runway boredom among him and his friends, and the silver of his watch glinted from the sun of Mediterranean France. He had a pretty Victoria’s Secret supermodel in his arms who called him Jongin with a teasing inflection but went inside her hotel room with another female model of Brazilian descent._

 

_Jongin was in Cannes for reasons other than looking pretty with a friend._

 

_He was following Kyungsoo closely since his former someone had exploded within the international film circuit. His heart swelled with pride, even if there was always that nagging voice inside his head telling him that he did not deserve to be proud of Kyungsoo’s achievements, when the actor’s movie,_ Hyerin, _flashed through the screens. All made up and pretty, Kyungsoo played the titular main character, a male performer traversing South Korean society dressed as a woman while being thrown in the middle of a power struggle he had no control over._

 

_Jongin, on the day of the film’s screening in the Théâtre Lumière, remembered blushing red when the camera swept across Kyungsoo’s bare skin. Candle smoke lent the scene a soft and dream-like quality. The pale expanse of Kyungsoo’s legs and his bare hip and his unblemished back were all muted against the backdrop of dirty walls graffitied crudely in the black, red, and blue of Korean and English slurs. Jongin sat up straight at that moment and he felt his eyes water, reaching the most poignant moment of the film. Kyungsoo was slowly removing the makeup on his face while music from a battered player flickered in and out of life in low quality and suddenly jumping crescendos._

 

_He had been holding his breath until_ Hyerin _finished. With hi legs crossed over the other and his hands fisted on top of his knee, Jongin watched, mesmerized, as the film came to a close with Kyungsoo, lips puckered and pigmented with dark red, kissing the screen before the stained camera panned low on his suit covered figure, downwards slowly to end on his feet in pointed toe stilettos the same color as the lipstick and the blank screen that followed._

 

_Afterwards, Jongin had bought a box of red roses whom he thought delightedly mimicked the color of the lipstick on Kyungsoo’s, Hyerin’s, heart-shaped lips. There was a culminating event for the nominees and the night was still early when Jongin saw Kyungsoo excusing himself to go the bathroom. Leaving his companions, he went after the small figure, hoping for something, anything, maybe forgiveness, maybe hope._

 

_Kyungsoo was in the washroom in his perfectly tailored Armani suit. Last season, Jongin had opened the show wearing the same article of clothing. The actor was dabbing on his face with a slightly damp tissue._

 

_“Hi, Kyungsoo,” he breathed._

 

_The older man snapped his head to his direction and Jongin allowed the lock on the door to click into place. He stepped out of the exit’s way, letting Kyungsoo know that he could go out any moment he liked. Jongin prayed he would not._

 

_“What are you doing here?” Kyungsoo glared, looking from underneath his eyelashes in a distinct way different from the side effects of his astigmatism. Coldly, he repeated, “Why are you here, Jongin?”_

 

_“I wanted to see your film,” he answered sincerely, “and you. Congratulations on being nominated for the Palme d’Or.”_

 

_“Your French was perfect,” Kyungsoo snorted. “Thank you.”_

 

_Jongin took a step forward and Kyungsoo took one back. The metallic cufflinks on Kyungsoo’s sleeves caught the glimmers of the lights inside the opulent bathroom._

 

_“I also wanted to apologize,” Jongin said._

 

_Kyungsoo shook his head and Jongin’s heart beat a little faster in nervousness when the older man blatantly sneered at him._

 

_“You have nothing to apologize for.”_

 

_“I have,” he corrected. “I need to say sorry for a lot of things, Kyungsoo.”_

 

_The other man raised his chin haughtily, “Do you now?” He raised one of his hands, ticking off his fingers. “For what? Let me guess. For leaving me without a warning? For not returning my calls or messages? For cutting me off completely from your life after I told you that I love you?”_

 

_Jongin winced at the harsh words but he let Kyungsoo bristle at him. His shoulders looked wider with the additional padding of the designer suit jacket. It was custom-made and tailored. The tension on them added to their breadth._

 

_This time, Kyungsoo’s left foot took one step forward. His eyes were blazing, “You don’t have to apologize for any of those things, Jongin. I’m over it. You are three years too late.”_

 

_Jongin watched as the shorter man breezed through him, sidestepping him and ignoring him completely without giving him the opportunity to speak. Jongin turned around and he found Kyungsoo’s elbow, gripping and tugging back._

 

_“Stop,” he begged. “Listen to me, Kyungsoo.”_

 

_“No,” Kyungsoo flailed both his limbs and Jongin loosened his hold so the other can free himself. The older actor stepped forward, invading Jongin’s personal space and hissing, “Don’t touch me.”_

 

_Before Jongin could have the chance to halt Kyungsoo’s exit again, he had already unlocked and opened the door._

 

_“Kyungsoo, wai—”_

 

_The words died down in Jongin’s throat when he saw one of Kyungsoo’s co-stars in_ Hyerin, _a veteran actor who was more or less twelve years Kyungsoo’s senior, leaning on the wall in front of the bathroom door. Jongin startled and stopped in his tracks, his fingers clutching thin air before he brought it down to his side._

 

_“Kai, it’s nice to run into you here,” the actor greeted pleasantly—faux politeness dripping from his fox-like smile._

 

_Jongin gulped and said, “Likewise,” without candor._

 

_The older actor turned to the still stupefied Kyungsoo, bending down a little bit so they were eye-level, “Are you okay, Kyungsoo? You look like you need to lie down.”_

 

_“I’m fine,” Kyungsoo replied. Jongin caught the lie in between the words. The veteran actor nodded, as if satisfied with the answer. The shorter man added, “I was just catching up with Kai. We starred in a film before—_ Spring Blooms in Winter _. I didn’t expect to run into him here.”_

 

_The senior actor inclined his head and the grin on his lips took a mocking edge. Jongin felt anger boil inside him when Kyungsoo completely turned his back to him without another word. The older man on Kyungsoo’s arms led him out of the secluded hallway with a large hand low on his back and Jongin had to go inside the bathroom again._

 

_He turned the tap on, letting it run and shoving his hands underneath the ice cold water. He carefully cupped the liquid in his palms and he let the coolness of it soothe the warmth of anger on his reddened face, glad that the thin coat of makeup on his skin was waterproof. The reflection in the mirror stared with eyes full of regret and childish resentment. There were tears ready to fall out of his eyes. Jongin realized he was trembling when he could barely twist the faucet shut._

 

_The name_ Kai _rang in his mind the entire night—rejection crystal clear._

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Jongin watches as Kyungsoo skips out of the room. The man’s steps are hurried and no one is able to react before the glass doors of the meeting room shut closed. Minseok—Kyungsoo’s manager, Jongin knows, mild contempt settling in the way his fists are clenched tight.

 

The silence in the room is suffocating and Jongin longs to break it. However, one of his co-stars, Byun Baekhyun, beats him to it. The puppy-eyed male comments, “That’s impressive acting.”

 

The other actor, Oh Sehun, snorts. The man will play Jiwon’s close friend, an ex-lover in Jiwon’s days in Marseille, a fellow danseur and a confidante. He adds idly, looking at his nails in model-perfect indifference, “Maybe the both of you should stick with the characters’ names though. Right, Kim Kai?”

 

He nods numbly under the piercing scrutiny. The two actors statements seem to trigger the stream of consciousness among the other people present in the room. Jongin is eternally thankful for iron-clad nondisclosure agreements—standard fare in high-profile movies, much less ones such as this.

 

Suddenly, Kim Minseok stands up and bows, a perfect ninety degree. It’s impressive. “I’m sorry,” the says. “I’ll go get Kyungsoo. I apologize for this, Director Kim.”

 

Jongin turns his eyes to the young director and he finds Kim Junmyeon looking more speculative than annoyed at Kyungsoo’s sudden breakaway.

 

Minseok is already righting the script that Kyungsoo has left on the ground in his haste to escape the thick atmosphere of the room, of Jongin, when the model stands up abruptly. His own manager looks up at him in shock. His manager’s hand creeps on the back of his leather jacket, tugging it twice in warning.

 

Completely ignoring and shrugging his manager's action, Jongin says, “I’ll go get him, Manager Kim. I have to apologize too.”

 

The older manager does not seem convinced. Biting his bottom lip, he remarks, doubt clouding his tone, and a little bit of challenge in the words. “Do you know where he is?”

 

Jongin supposes he does not but he has an idea—better than anyone else in this room.

 

“I can think of a few places where he can be.”

 

Before Minseok can protest, Junmyeon, eyes hard and brows furrowed, states, “Go ahead, Jongin. Talk whatever it is that you have to talk about with Kyungsoo. Clearly—” The director pauses and his stare bores through Jongin’s existence, as if he can see him shaking inwardly in an invisible winter chill. “—you have as many unfinished conversations as Hwandong and Jiwon.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Jongin presses the door lever down and he is unsurprised when it gives away. He presses his shoulder on the entrance and he pushes through with a small opening first, eyes trained on the dim lighting of the clinically tidy restroom. He makes his way inside and sure enough, there he is.

 

“There you are,” he whispers softly. His voice echoes within the tiled walls of the room. Kyungsoo’s sitting down on the floor, knees pulled up near his chest. Jongin aches at the picture Kyungsoo paints, small and thin. His eyes are red and there is a steady stream of wetness falling from his round eyes. His lashes are thick and damp with his tears. His labored breathing reverberates in the four corners of the men’s room. 

 

“Here I am,” Kyungsoo gestures to himself weakly. He hiccups on the word _I_ and his lips twist in rueful amusement, his lids droop low. The lights cast a shadow on his eyelashes and they create wings on the soft-looking skin beneath Kyungsoo’s eyes. 

 

The Italian leather of Jongin’s handmade dress shoes click on the white tiles in rhythm. One. Two. Three. He takes three steps before the tips of his shoes are an inch or so away from Kyungsoo’s. The man is looking down on the floor. The tears spill unbidden and Jongin wants to kiss every single droplet tenderly, wants to run his fingers on the apparent jut of Kyungsoo’s cheekbones, wants to pull the man to drop on the floor so he can pull the older man on his lap and cradle him, comfort him. 

 

Jongin _wants, wants, wants_ but he can’t. He has lost that right a long time ago.

 

Instead, he settles on briefly observing the other man. He looks so thin—thinner than five years ago. The fine bones of his wrists protrude and Jongin wants to shake the older actor for not taking care of himself properly. Jongin wonders if this is the price of success for Kyungsoo—the numbers on the scale slipping on almost unhealthy, restraint and self-control faked with wavering fingers and empty glasses reeking of low-calorie clean straight vodka.

 

He slumps down on the floor in front of Kyungsoo, legs half-sprawled every way and caging Kyungsoo in between them. He notices the minute shaking of the man’s form and he removes his leather jacket off so can he can drape it on narrow shoulders. The sleeves are long enough to touch the tiles. He watches as Kyungsoo flinches and the actor raises his head. Their faces are less than a foot apart.

 

“No,” Kyungsoo murmurs. His tears are not stopping and Jongin is finding it harder to breathe. He takes a prolonged inhale just as the older man lets out a stream of shaky breath. Small hands press flat on Jongin’s sternum, weakly pushing him away. He holds his ground and he threads his fingers in between Kyungsoo’s. Their hands are cold and clammy.

 

“Jongin,” Kyungsoo’s voice is raspy, shattering on the last syllable of the name. “Don’t.”

 

“Don’t what, Kyungsoo?” Jongin asks, pleads. Kyungsoo’s hands are still rocking within his. Or maybe that is all on Jongin. Or on the both of them.

 

The actor looks up again and Jongin stops breathing because _Kyungsoo_ —Kyungsoo looks so beautiful like this. His nose is pink and his cheeks are red. Tears stain in uneven tracks on his pale cheeks and his plump lips are quivering with his hiccups and irregular breathing.

 

Kyungsoo is as beautiful as Jongin remembers. Different, but still beautiful. Perhaps even more so from the young and bright-eyed twenty-year old from five years ago. The Kyungsoo of today looks like something Jongin has no words for—an artwork, a masterpiece, a collection of flawed dots forming an endless universe.

 

Jongin rubs his thumbs on the skin of Kyungsoo’s wrists and he hears the other release a soft wail that stays low on the back of his throat. 

 

“Don’t look at me like you are still in love with me, Jongin,” Kyungsoo whimpers. He tucks his knees closer to his chest like it will protect him from the taller man. Jongin’s hold on Kyungsoo’s hand slackens and the actor is quick to pull them back to himself.

 

“Kyungsoo—” He stops, not knowing what to say. 

 

“Please. Please don’t look at me like you’re still nineteen years old and I’m still twenty. Please don’t look at me like I’m the most precious thing in your world, Jongin.” Kyungsoo sobs again. Jongin’s lungs are burning. “We both know that I am not.”

 

“Stop,” Jongin interrupts and the tears on his eyes also begin to fall. “Kyungsoo, I—”

 

“Don’t lie to me,” Kyungsoo hisses, the heat on his words are apparent despite the pain seeping through every drag. One of his hands extends to Jongin and the model tilts his head to side, bracing himself to receive a blow he deserves. His eyes widen when Kyungsoo clutches on his button down shirt, fisting the material in a desperate hold. His other free hand is curled into a ball and it thumps alongside Jongin’s heartbeat erratically, out of pattern. 

 

The weak punches do not hurt but Kyungsoo’s words do. He adds, accusingly, voice wet and heartbroken, “You left me five years ago without saying anything. You never thought we— _this—_ could work.”

 

“I loved you five years ago, Kyungsoo.” _And now, five years later._

 

Kyungsoo shakes his head. And the intakes of air are loud and shallow in Jongin’s ears. The older man is crying like Jongin’s mere presence is cracking his heart into tiny, irreparable pieces. Again. Repeatedly. Kyungsoo sobs out, “You did—deeply, sincerely, wonderfully. But you and I both know the truth, Jongin—you did not love me enough.”

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> read with caution?
> 
> unbeta-ed.

 

They reach an impasse.

 

Read-throughs done, additional contracts signed, schedules ironed out, Jongin thinks this is the half-assed denouement of a movie that is only built on a climax. He has been living his life within these bouts of resolutions, within the climaxes of opening and closing fashion shows and fashion weeks. 

 

Jongin has been carrying his life within his memories and most of them—most of them do not include Kyungsoo.

 

The thought sends goosebumps rising on his skin. It is not sadness. It’s a little bit of fear, a little bit of anxiety flowing through veins made of something supposedly unshakeable. Jongin marvels at the person that is Do Kyungsoo, whom he has only been with for close to a year, when they have filmed _Spring Blooms in Winter,_ because Kyungsoo does not need 365 days to get Jongin utterly, completely, unyieldingly, in love with him.

 

And there it is—the honest to god truth in the script of Jongin’s miserable life.

 

He sighs. Admitting it to himself, after five years of being Kai on the runways and magazine covers, sticking his mouth and his fingers and his cocks on other willing bodies who only care about the relief, the boredom, the passion and the hunger but never the feelings. Never Kim Jongin—the boy who has sprung from the big screen and the small magazines of South Korea. Jongin feels like a feverish man with his thoughts and his ideas running away from him, running over each other, overlapping and never finishing. 

 

Kyungsoo makes Jongin like this, even after five years. After all this time, Jongin feels like he’s back in Seoul again, filming a coming-of-age movie during the time when it has been on decline instead of a gay one.

 

“Jongin.” A touch invades his personal space, a clap on his shoulder. Jongin does not flinch, used to unwelcome contact from being a supermodel in New York and Paris and Milan and wherever else he is needed.

 

“Yeah?” He turns to his temporary manager, a middle-aged man assigned to monitor him in his movie filming. Jongin forgets his name, not because he is rude but because he knows that, after this, he will have to leave anyway. No use forming connections when he has to trim it himself afterwards. Jongin is the physical embodiment of the jet-setting lifestyle, mile-high club member drunk on in-flight champagne with a pill underneath his tongue to keep himself awake.

 

“You’re up again,” the man says. Jongin nods, stands up, and he sheds the large coat on him. Someone from makeup materializes beside him, efficient, as she smudges the shadow on his eyes and Jongin sneaks a glance at the mirror.

 

Lee Jiwon stares back at him—face looking young and bright and Jongin smiles, big and sincere, and he is thankful that Jiwon’s features follow. And that is definitely Jiwon—Kim Jongin has never smiled like that in the last three years, maybe four and a half.

 

Maybe five years.

 

He wordlessly follows and he stands in the set, a little dim, as Junmyeon starts giving him instructions. Jongin feels Jiwon from the way he feels his face slacken just slightly, a minute change from the Jongin who is naturally shy and the Kai who is aloof and detached. Introversion is easily mistaken as stoicism in the fashion world. And being stoic is easily mistaken for being a bitch.

 

“Okay so—” Junmyeon points to the space a little bit on the side of the set—a ballet studio rented in the cheaper areas of Ulsan, where Jiwon and Hwandong have grown up. They’re filming the main leads’ childhood, or young adulthood, whichever the proper term is. “—you have to stand here first. And it’s going to be quiet. Before we play music and then you dance.”

 

Jongin nods and the director eyes him, asks, “Do you remember the choreography?”

 

“Yes,” he answers. Jongin runs his hand over the white wife beater he is wearing. “I can improvise if I made a mistake.”

 

Junmyeon grins at that, pats him on his right shoulder blade, “That’s why we really wanted to cast you.”

 

Jongin blushes at the compliment and Junmyeon gives him an okay to take position. He stands where he is supposed to and several pairs of eyes watch his form. Jongin pays them no mind, already used to people staring at him. He has build a career out of being scrutinized.

 

Junmyeon gives him the signal and Jongin is no longer Jongin but Jiwon when the first notes of the soft piano resonates on the light wood of the floor and the large mirrors stained with finger and hand prints. Jiwon points his toes, extends his hands, and he closes his eyes just as the music builds in a fast alternating melody. He drags his right foot and the left follows almost lazily before the muscles on his abdomen contracts as he prepares himself for a turn. Jongin curses mentally when the landing is less than ideal but he hears no sharp “Cut!” so he continues. He makes up the bad footing by pulling on some of the b-boy he has learned, remembering a street performance that one time when he is in New York for a shoot that has captivated him.

 

The choreography runs from him, adding specks of Kim Jongin to the danseur that is Lee Jiwon. It is exhilarating and he is not sure if this is Jiwon or Jongin who is feeling alive just as the music slowly dies. He ends the solo performance standing up, shoulders curved downwards to the earth with his back to the camera. He knows how the camera will work this—a pan on the breadth of his shoulders, slowly to his slim waist and to the length of his legs, and the balls of his feet.

 

Jongin lets out a sigh, slumping down on the floor before the tiredness overcomes him. He raises his arm, covers his eyes with it, and he breathes harshly, deeply, panting because of the aftermath of his self-performance. He feels it coming, knows it is coming. 

 

Kyungsoo—Hwandong—walks up to him, even if he does not see it. Hwandong watches Jiwon dance because that is what this film is all about—years of pining for a person who is already within one’s grasp, the never-ending pursuit between two people spanning two different continents and almost a decade.

 

“Hi,” Kyungsoo says—and damn it, Jongin thinks. That is not Kyungsoo but Hwandong.

 

He removes his arm and the smile on his face is tired but the crescents of his eyes are genuine. “Hi.”

 

Kyungsoo—Hwandong—smiles back, biting his lower lip to stop it from going wider. He crouches on the floor beside his prone form and Jongin gets up from he is lying down. He turns to face Kyungsoo, Hwandong, and the cameras all blend to the background when he sees the high flush on Kyungsoo’s cheeks.

 

“What are you doing here?” Jiwon asks. It’s higher pitched, a little bit like Shikyung from _Spring Blooms in Winter,_ and he wonders if Kyungsoo remembers.

 

“Nothing,” Hwandong replies and Jongin’s heart beats loud in his ears when the older man pulls his arms up on top of his knees, balancing a little on his feet, and he rests his head on his folded arms. Kyungsoo looks at Jongin and something in the air shifts, something more melancholic. 

 

Jongin feels a lump form on his throat when he says, “You’re so silly.”

 

Hwandong giggles then and Jongin knows what Jiwon is supposed to do next. He shuffles closer and his breath fans on Kyungsoo’s face. Hwandong closes his eyes and Jiwon does too. His fingers are trembling and he fists them on the hem of his tank top like any moment now he will shatter. He tries to hold himself together, will power and self-control overpowering his desire to do something absolutely stupid. Jongin hopes Junmyeon sees this as another improvisation. The hesitation and the nervousness is all Jongin because Jiwon is expected to do this quick, playful, a stolen peck on the cheek, but he drags it on. 

 

He lets his breath fan, warm, and his breathing is still labored from the dancing he has done prior. Jongin hears roars in his ears and he wants to know if the slight fluttering of Kyungsoo’s eyelashes, eyes still not opening, is a sign that this is Kyungsoo. If this is Kyungsoo trying to break free from the character of Hwandong.

 

Jongin’s lower lip quivers and he closes his eyes too. He presses it softly on Kyungsoo’s cheek and the skin is warm. He pulls away and his eyes slowly open. There were no more words left to say—either on the script or on the hollows of Jongin’s mind.

 

“Cut,” Junmyeon breathes out. Jongin is getting used to the silence of the staff by now and, as if like a great wave coming to the shore, the noises rise up again when Kyungsoo stands up fast before Jongin can even say a word.

 

He watches as the other man immediately seeks the comfort of Minseok, his manager, slipping his hand on the other man’s almost naturally. Minseok gives Kyungsoo a small smile and the blue that Jongin is feeling gradually turns into green as the pair huddles in the corner of the set.

 

Jongin stands up, too, and he caresses his lips, trying to keep the sensation of Kyungsoo’s soft skin. He knows his time is limited, and his chances are even more so. Jongin will treasure these little things, even if they are barely the reality amidst the fabricated sets of movie filming—all directed and in front of the camera, faux interactions by faux lovers whose actors pretend everything is forced and good acting.

 

The kiss tingles and it feels like the first time when nineteen year old Jongin giggles against twenty year old Kyungsoo’s mouth in the janitor’s closet of their fake school in the break of filming _Spring Blooms in Winter_.

 

Like always, he pictures what Kim Jongin will do when Jiwon presses his lips against Hwandong’s, soft and loving before turning into hunger and desperation. And he sees himself, not Jiwon, taking all that he can and all that he is allowed from Kyungsoo, hoping he is not Hwandong.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_They were filming Shikyung and Kangwoo in high school and Jongin was all smirks and swagger. The hallways felt familiar because public schools were the same everywhere in South Korea. Kyungsoo fit his uniform perfectly, narrow shoulders and chubby cheeks looking at home in the navy blazer._

 

_Kyungsoo slipped his hand on Jongin’s as they were walking down on a quiet hall. It was a Sunday and no student was in sight, the place was closed for filming, except for the teachers and the extras. Jongin sidled closer to Kyungsoo, almost half behind him, and the cottons of their shirt did nothing to stop the warmth seeping through their bodies. It was pleasant even if it was a little warm._

 

_“Kyungsoo,” Jongin whispered, back on Kyungsoo’s shoulder blades and lips on his right ear. He felt a shiver go through Kyungsoo’s body, and he stepped away carefully. He walked beside the other boy, squeezing his hand tight, and added, “Let’s go disappear.”_

 

_The shorter male turned to look at him, wide eyes even wider, and Jongin could not help the grin forming on his face. It was all teeth, mischievous with a hint of honesty, a plea caught on the undercurrent of the half-joke, half-request. Kyungsoo almost jerked his hand away but Jongin was quick to stop him. He gripped it tighter and he painted soothing circles on the skin of Kyungsoo’s hand, near his thumb. He raised the hand, loosening his hold, just so he could intertwine their fingers._

 

_It fit perfectly._

 

_“What do you mean?” Kyungsoo asked, confused, but he did not take his hand away._

 

_Jongin smiled, the grin turned into a soft smile. He pushed Kyungsoo near the wall and his body crowded the smaller one in the cage of one of his arms. He leaned down but he maintained distance when he brought the hand closer to his lips._

 

_Kyungsoo looked like he is ready to explode in a burst of red—his ears, his cheeks, his neck and then somewhere lower, disappearing underneath the perfectly buttoned uniform shirt. Jongin closed his eyes and he kissed each of Kyungsoo’s folded finger. He made his mouth linger on each knuckle and he wondered if it was Kyungsoo who was trembling or him._

 

_“I want to kiss you,” he admitted. A sigh broke from his mouth when he straightened up. Jongin took one step back and his chest grew a size when he saw Kyungsoo take a step towards him, hand chasing his, not wanting to let go._

 

_Jongin was a giving man, a generous man, so he took Kyungsoo’s hand, asked, “Do you want to kiss me too?”_

 

_There was a moment of silence and he wondered if he pushed it too far. Jongin knew how to read people but Kyungsoo was special. Kyungsoo was an old book in a library, the one Jongin would always borrow, because he always felt like he was reading a different one every single time._

 

_And then, Kyungsoo nodded._

 

_Jongin felt laughter bubbling in his stomach and he pulled Kyungsoo, running in the hallways. The wind that they made from the speed of their sprint mussed both their hairs, lashing on the faces and turning it even redder. He spotted one of the doors he was looking for and Jongin smiled big when the doorknob budged. He pushed Kyungsoo inside the cramped space and he heard rustling as the older man yelped._

 

_Jongin closed the door with an audible click but it might as well be a thunder with the way it echoed in his ears and then his insides. Kyungsoo’s back was against a shelf of cleaning products._

 

_“The janitor’s closet?” He asked dryly, unimpressed._

 

_He made his shoulders seem broader, imposing, and he smirked as he stalked the other. Joking, he said, “I’ll make it worth your while.”_

 

_Kyungsoo stared at him and the pink of his cheeks flare and Jongin did not know what to expect until Kyungsoo sputtered before he released a string of loud guffaws interrupted by hiccups._

 

_“Oh my god—Jongin—do not ever—that was—okay,” Kyungsoo took a deep breath and he looked up at Jongin. He felt hands reach up towards him and they link behind his neck before he felt plush lips on his._

 

_The world bled out of Jongin’s periphery when he felt Kyungsoo kiss him tenderly. It began with a soft press, almost fleeting, before the pressure increased and Kyungsoo moved his lips, uncertain. Jongin bent down so he could deepen their lip-lock and his hands held Kyungsoo’s waist as if the other man’s existence was the only thing tethering him in the present._

 

_He bit Kyungsoo’s bottom lip and there was a gasp that was quickly swallowed between the two of them. Jongin pushed his mouth inside Kyungsoo’s and he relished the warmth and the light taste of Sprite on the other boy’s. He pushed Kyungsoo on the shelf and the man broke the kiss with a groan._

 

_“Hurts,” he hissed. “They’re digging on my back.”_

 

_“Sorry,” Jongin apologized and he felt fingers play the short hair near the top his nape. He pulled Kyungsoo closer to himself and he turned the both of them so it was his back on the open cabinets before he slid down on the dirty floor, dragging Kyungsoo with him._

 

_“Wardrobe is going to scold you,” Kyungsoo said. He did not sound contrite at all as he settled firmly and comfortably on Jongin’s lap. His legs are sprawled sideways, bent at the knees because of the cramped space._

 

_“Let them,” Jongin shrugged as he toyed Kyungsoo’s jacket in between his hands. Kyungsoo kisses the left corner of Jongin’s mouth and a whine erupted, unbidden, from Jongin’s throat._

 

_“Such a baby,” Kyungsoo teased but he still kissed Jongin square on the mouth like it was his job to make Jongin breathless with a single contact._

 

_“Only for you,” Jongin winked and Kyungsoo giggled like a kid. Jongin watched him, eyes in curves and lips big heart, and he wondered how someone’s laughter could bring so much joy to him that he started laughing himself._

 

_He kissed Kyungsoo again and their teeth clattered together, starting another round of soft laughter. Kyungsoo kissed him like that, openmouthed and giggling, and it did not quite alight properly but it was the best, as good as the first one, as good as the future ones._

 

_Kyungsoo calmed down after a beat and he rested his forehead on Jongin’s neck. The air inside the small space felt like summer, and there were no windows but Jongin could swear everything was bright when he felt Kyungsoo kiss the tender skin where his pulse was running, erratic._

 

_Lips moved near his ear, whispering like a confession heard by no one except god and Jongin himself, “My heart is yours to break, Jongin.”_

 

_Jongin smiled, kissing the top of Kyungsoo’s head, replying the only truth he knows, “You’re silly! Why would I even do that to you?”_

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Jongin feels the last string of exhaustion snap on the plane to France. He takes a deep breath of recycled air and he is glad for the first class seats when he turns to his right with fair ease. Kyungsoo is looking in front, stubborn with his face in a careful blank.

 

“Kyungsoo,” he says. Jongin has been calling Kyungsoo’s name a lot ever since he has come to Korea to film, more times than he has ever done in his dreams. “Talk to me.”

 

The other man sighs, shoulders dropping in resignation, and Jongin wants to envelop him in a hug, cradle him once again. Jongin wants a lot of things and he has been doing nothing but want Kyungsoo for all of five years—and even before that, when they have been shooting _Spring Blooms in Winter_ and he already has Kyungsoo.

 

Jongin supposes he will always want Kyungsoo, like a constant, a personality quirk. A part of Jongin will always be Jongin, is Jongin, because that part and his entirety wants Kyungsoo in any way he can and in all ways he is able to.

 

The distance between them is electrifying and Jongin suddenly hates first class flights. Wide chairs are more space between the two of them. 

 

“What do you want me to say to you?” Another sigh from him and Jongin feels his stomach drop and his hands tremble. His chest is tight like there is something there twisting his insides, his heart, while also pressing heavy weight on it.

 

“I—Kyungsoo, please,” Jongin begs. He keeps his voice low but most of the passengers are already drifting away to sleep. 

 

Kyungsoo does not sound put off, he sounds accepting, also tired, when he says, “What are you begging me for?”

 

Jongin feels heat on his eyes and the telltale dampness on the corners. He sees Kyungsoo clearly and then, all at once, the other man turns into a blur from the tears welling up in Jongin’s eyes. He feels like he cannot breathe and he wants to stand up, clawing at the seat but his knees are quivering and useless. His hands are shaking, tremors going through his body and Jongin has never known fatigue and numbness can feel as overwhelming as anger and pain until this very moment when he does not know what is happening anymore.

 

He takes one shallow breath after another but they are all useless and Jongin imagines that drowning is a little bit like this except the water is not flooding his protesting lungs but his eyes, trickling on his skin, unforgivable.

 

“Breathe,” Kyungsoo says and he knows it is Kyungsoo because he will know the man always—anywhere, anytime, a constant. Jongin turns his head sideways when he feels hands cup both of his face. He tries to bury himself in the warmth of the palms pressed on his face and the same voice feels closer when he adds, “Jongin, you have to breathe for me.”

 

Jongin tries and he takes an inhale of air repeatedly. The hands on his face are shaking but Jongin’s hands are too. He wants to reach up and calm the other man but he needs to calm himself down first. Jongin breathes and breathes until the heaviness on his chest starts to subside. It does not disappear but Jongin has not felt light ever since he has left South Korea, ever since he has left what silly nineteen-year old him considers as his world. 

 

Silly twenty-four year old him opens his eyes and he sees Kyungsoo and there is no surprise when a simple smile breaks his face, like a man out of water, because the other male is still his world after everything.

 

“I’m sorry,” he hiccups, sobs out. “I’m so sorry, Kyungsoo.” Jongin has no idea what he is apologizing for.

 

“Jongin,” the older man says helplessly. His hands hold Jongin’s face like it’s a personal treasure and his thumbs caress high cheekbones in a comforting gesture until the flow of tears subside. It takes a moment but Jongin has been used to feeling so much in so little time that it is a stroll in the park when he can finally breathe a little easier without his lungs half-way into failing.

 

Kyungsoo looks shaken and his hands are still warm. There is sweat beading on his forehead despite the controlled temperature of the plane. His hands are clammy from where they are pressed on Jongin’s skin, wet with sweat and salty tears. Jongin does not mind it one bit but the other man pulls away, wiping them on his trousers.

 

“Do you need some water? Should I call someone?” The worry in Kyungsoo’s voice has hope flowering within the labyrinth of emotions he has built for the other man. Jongin shakes his head, tells him he does not have to do anything but says yes to the water.

 

Kyungsoo uncaps his bottle, handing it to Jongin. It is half-full.

 

Jongin finishes the rest, gulping the liquid with difficulty. His chest presses down on him, on his soul, on his everything, and there are multiple lumps extending down to his stomach, making him feel nauseated. Bile riseson his throat and he pushes it away with the last remains of the water.

 

There is another silence and none of them dare to breach the space and distance. Kyungsoo goes back to his original sitting position but, this time, his shoulders form a hard line. Jongin takes a deep exhale and Kyungsoo, too, imitates him. He lets his head drop on the backrest, lolling and falling on Kyungsoo’s side until his hair is tickling the skin of Kyungsoo’s next.

 

He waits to be pushed away, to be rejected again. Jongin waits and waits and waits but none has come except Kyungsoo’s shoulders going lax. He moves his head slightly, his neck is going to have an unholy creak, and his breathing still stutters. The lethargy has sunk too deep and too sudden when he feels himself being pulled into what he hopes to be a deep sleep. He thinks he can hear Kyungsoo’s rabbiting heartbeat from where he is perched near the man’s pulse.

 

Jongin relaxes and he does not dream but he does not have nightmares either.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Kyungsoo has only been to Marseille once. 

 

He has been waiting for three years when the Palme d’Or nomination knocks him off of his feet. Kyungsoo remembers thinking, _finally_. Before the happiness crashes on him like a waterfall, a little painful, a little relieving, all at once and unrestrained. 

 

He does not remember MRS being this crowded but he thinks it’s one of the busiest in France. Luggage rolls in hurry from people dressed in business suits and they move slowly when they are held by people dressed more casually, probably tourists who have no deadlines to meet, no jitters to shake off.

 

Only a handful of the crew has flown with them because Junmyeon has planned the filming schedule wisely with no unnecessary expenditure on the budget. Kyungsoo has Minseok and no one else. Jongin has his manager whose name, no matter how hard Kyungsoo tries, has always evaded him. Someone bumps into him and he feels a hand snake on his waist, steadying him.

 

“You okay?” Jongin asks, back curved towards him. The younger man always talks to Kyungsoo like an equal, at eye level, and he has to bend down for it. Five years ago, he has said it’s because he wants to see Kyungsoo’s face clearly, at the rawest possible angle, unfiltered.

 

Kyungsoo wants to smile but it’s a little harder right now. The jet lag is horrible and the shadows curling in him are still present. He settles with replying, “Yes. Thank you,” and shrugging the hand from where it is resting over the fabric of his shirt.

 

He sees Jongin falter in his steps and Kyungsoo regrets his noncommittal answer, just a little. An apology rests on the tip of his tongue but before he can have the chance to do so, their shuttle arrives in bad timing—or good, Kyungsoo has not decided yet, does not want to decide.

 

He sits far from Jongin but it is unnecessary as the other is quickly accosted by Sehun with a long limb and a fast mouth. Kyungsoo is a creature of habit and he finds his place beside Minseok. His manager fusses over him like a mother and Kyungsoo lets him, craving affection and attention.

 

In the hotel, they are led to a private dining room. Some have excused themselves but Kyungsoo is excited to try the food Marseille has to offer. They are all pleasantly surprised, however, when a man who looks like he’s around Junmyeon’s age greets them. Kyungsoo watches the director and something buds within when he sees the brightness of the older man’s smile aimed at the other male.

 

“ _Bonjour,_ ” he welcomes. Kyungsoo notices the perfect pronunciation, the man’s slight pout when the _bon_ slips first and then the inkling of a small smile with the _jour_. He has dimples. In a Korean worse the his French, he introduces, “I’m Zhang Yixing.”

 

They all exchange names and Yixing seems genuinely interested in knowing the names of everyone—from the staff, to the coordi, to the actors themselves. They fit on a large round table, all twelve of them who have chosen to remain for a meal. Across Kyungsoo, Jongin sits beside Sehun. 

 

“What brings you here to Marseille, Yixing?” Sehun asks. Kyungsoo snaps his head in interest as he takes a sip of his _pastis_. The bouillabaisse is heavy on his stomach paired wth an excessive amount of rouille.

 

Yixing’s smile is crooked but it looks no less sincere. Kyungsoo thinks he is handsome—a tall nose, high cheekbones, and strong forehead. The quirk of his lips lessens the severity of his face, intimidating with its almost regal quality. “I’m a dancer. Well, I’m employed as a choreographer now.”

 

“Oh?” Jongin seems more inquisitive now. “Who do you choreograph for?”

 

Yixing cheeks color slightly and the flush is not from the spiced alcohol they are drinking. His hands rub one of his ears consciously, replying, “Ballet National.”

 

Kyungsoo’s eyes widen and he too asks, “You’re a ballet dancer?”

 

“Do I not look like it?” Yixing retorts and Kyungsoo splutters, almost choking on thin air, before the man grins, waving him off. “I’m kidding, Kyungsoo. You’re Kyungsoo, right?”

 

Kyungsoo nods and Yixing’s smile grows bigger. He feels a grin coming along from the way Yixing looks so happy, so alive. “I was their danseur before but now I’m a choreographer. The company mixes modern dance styles with classical ballet. You should watch it at least once. We’re amazing.”

 

Everyone starts tittering right then, shooting Yixing questions left and right. Something nags Kyungsoo so he asks again, “How did you know Director Kim?”

 

Yixing throws an arm around Junmyeon’s shoulder and Kyungsoo sees it as clear as day. Junmyeon’s smile freezes on his face, fake, and his body turns taut like he is ready to run away. Kyungsoo sees because he knows what he is looking for. Yixing says, “Junmyeon and I met when my family moved to Korea from China. We were nei—”

 

Yixing’s words are drowned out when Kyungsoo’s eyes drift to Jongin. Something dark coils in his stomach when he sees Sehun whispering on the model’s ears. Jongin laughs lightly, slapping Sehun on his bicep, as the two of them share secretive smiles. Kyungsoo’s hold on his glass tightens.

 

He averts his gaze and he catches Yixing saying, “—childhood friends. I had to move after high school though. For ballet.”

 

Kyungsoo realizes the sadness, the longing, maybe the regret, on Yixing’s words. Rods sink into their pegs and like cold knowledge, he watches the pained smile on Junmyeon’s face and the dimples on Yixing’s face disappear.

 

_Oh. Hwandong and Jiwon._

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Kyungsoo feels like he has to vomit, clutching the shot list on his hands. Minseok is massaging his shoulders but the knots on them refuses to go away.

 

“Are you okay, sweetie?” His manager whispers in his ear. His hands grasp the robe that Kyungsoo is wearing. 

 

Kyungsoo can barely breathe but he manages to say, “I can do it.” 

 

Minseok looks skeptical from where they are staring at each other on the small mirror the crew has set up. Kyungsoo’s stomach churns again and he puts another breath mint inside his mouth. He closes his eyes tightly.

 

“Okay, Kyungie,” the older man sighs. “Junmyeon wants to talk to you.”

 

Kyungsoo stands up and he has to steady himself with Minseok’s elbow when his knees almost gives up on him. He takes a deep breath—one, two, three—in time with his manager’s. He thinks about film cameras and the smell of dark room, flashing lights and school uniforms, video tapes and DVD collections, dance studios and heartbreak, as he desperately tries to pull out Hwandong from the aches of his own.

 

“I’m fine,” he tells himself, “I’m Hwandong now. Not Kyungsoo. Jongin is Jiwon. Lee Jiwon.”

 

Kyungsoo remains it again but this time, he does it in his head. Minseok shoots him a look but he does not question any further, much to Kyungsoo’s relief. They enter the large flat in Marseille and Kyungsoo navigates the various equipment. The window is large and the lights of the port city illuminates the neutrals of the apartment. Kyungsoo thinks he hears the waves of the ocean from where he is.

 

“Kyungsoo,” Junmyeon says, taking his hand gently, “Are you okay? You took a long time with the prep.”

 

“I’m fine.” He tries to smile, to reassure the director, but Jongin is standing there in his robe. The hem falls higher than it does on Kyungsoo’s and the sleeves are a little too short on him. His shoulders are broad but the strength on them does not reflect on the hesitation clouding Jongin’s face.

 

“Okay,” Junmyeon whispers. The room is being vacated by most of the people. Only the film crew of utmost necessity are present and Kyungsoo tries, he really does, to listen to the words coming from Junmyeon’s mouth before they are drowned by the thudding in his ears and the ocean waves he is hearing.

 

“I want the two of you to be the most comfortable with this scene,” he begins, “and we’ll film the more intimate scenes first. Is that alright?”

 

Kyungsoo does not trust his voice so he nods and Jongin mumbles something but he does not understand what it is. Junmyeon turns to the model and he says, “Jongin, we’re going to begin the take with you pushing Kyungsoo on the wall. It has to be passionate—you’re finally allowed to touch him after so long.”

 

Kyungsoo gulps when the director’s eyes zero in on him. He adds, “Kyungsoo, you have to fight back, no? You have also been wanting Jiwon and it’s been a long time since the two of you have been together. I want the kisses to be feral, a little like you’re both drunk.”

 

He stuffs his hands inside the pockets of his robe and he tries curb the tremors at bay. Junmyeon continues, oblivious to the way Kyungsoo has been surreptitiously eyeing Jongin, “And then, you’re both going to have this moment—like a snap. It’s going to turn from mere fucking to lovemaking. I want longing and sadness. Tears.”

 

“Okay,” Kyungsoo says and then, louder, “Okay.”

 

This time, it is Jongin who nods. 

 

Junmyeon gives them both a reassuring pat and it completely escapes Kyungsoo because someone from wardrobe takes his robe away so he’s dressed in tight flesh colored shorts just as Jongin sheds his too. He eyes the other man—all long lines and toned body, carved perfection on model flesh, a job requirement. He thinks Junmyeon has said something and he feels Jongin’s hands on his wrists before he slams on the wall.

 

The man’s lips are on him and Kyungsoo desperately tries to become Hwandong but Jongin’s mouth is insistent, stealing the character with a harsh bite on his lip. The walls are cold on his naked back but Jongin’s grip on his wrists are tight and hot. He makes an effort to remember the script and this is where he is supposed to struggle.

 

Kyungsoo flails around and the hold on his slackens. He pushes Jongin—Jiwon—away before he surges on his toes, capturing the taller man in a bruising kiss. His hands worm around to link behind Jongin’s neck and as their skin bumps against each other. Kyungsoo feels the warmth between them and he breaks the kiss to take a lungful of air. The atmosphere is thick.

 

Jongin pulls Kyungsoo closer again and the kiss remains openmouthed. The younger bites his lower lip and he opens his mouth with a gasp. He feels a hot tongue invade his, prodding and running on the back of his teeth. Kyungsoo whimpers but it is silenced by Jongin deepening the kiss. Large hands trail down to his hips and they tighten, ready to bruise.

 

Kyungsoo gets whiplash when he falls down suddenly and he has completely forgotten that they have to be on the bed. Jongin hovers above him and the warmth in the pit of Kyungsoo’s stomach transfers to the his chest. The other man seems so composed, so in character—maybe this is Jiwon and it is a harsh slap on Kyungsoo’s skin.

 

His back arches when Jongin’s lips travel down his neck, his mouth are parted and Kyungsoo knows his heart is thundering loudly. The tears are starting to form even before they have to. Jongin is straddling his hips.

 

This is where Kyungsoo is supposed to bring Jongin’s face near his so he reaches a hand on the man’s jaw. He caresses the sharp angle slightly before he pulls Jongin—Jiwon—for a kiss. This time, it is softer, lonelier. His mouth moves slowly as if this is the last time and, in a way, it is.

 

He brings another hand up, resting them on the side of Jongin’s neck, as he tilts his head. Jongin makes a noise of _something_ but Kyungsoo continues the slow kiss, putting everything he has. He—Kyungsoo—Hwandong—savors the moment because this will never happen again. Not in this lifetime and that, that brings the tears that Junmyeon is asking for. Kyungsoo wishes, prays, as his mouth moves against Jongin, that someone will give them another one and, this time, they can do this as many times as they want. Another lifetime—so he can hold and kiss Jongin like this without the expiration date, without the pretense of acting, even if he can barely recall the name of their characters with the way Jongin’s mouth and his touches make him forget.

 

Jongin breaks it off first, balancing on his elbows so he can look Kyungsoo in the face. Kyungsoo feels his mouth forming a wobbly smile, watery. Heart-shaped. Jongin’s eyes widen and then they do this thing—this thing that Kyungsoo loves. The almond shape of his eyes soften and Kyungsoo sees the moment that Junmyeon is talking about. 

 

The snap. That split second of remembrance when they forget about the lust and let the love and the affection and the longing replace whatever hunger they are feeling.

 

Jongin smiles at him back and Kyungsoo’s tears fall on the bed sheet, slowly, because Jongin is so beautiful like this with his own back blocking the light overhead and casting him in dreamy shadows. Another tear slips out and it’s because Jongin looks like Jongin and he is looking at Kyungsoo like he has never seen him before.

 

“You’re so beautiful,” Jongin says, sincerely, and his voice cracks at the end. “You’re so beautiful like this.”

 

Kyungsoo shakes his head because he has no words but he brings Jongin’s mouth on him again for a kiss. Jongin cuts it short and he collapses on the bed beside Kyungsoo before his hands reach over, turning Kyungsoo on his back and—yes, they have a shot list to follow.

 

The tears are uncontrollable and so is his pulse, running away from him like he is wont to do. He feels Jongin’s hands on him, featherlight, butterfly wings fluttering on his skin and sinking inside Kyungsoo’s stomach only to turn into rampaging storms.

 

He feels lips on his nape, open, before it drags to the top of his spine. Jongin places a sweet kiss on the very first knob and the mouth goes lower and lower on the curve of his back. Kyungsoo’s hands clench when he feels Jongin’s fingers play a tune on his protruding ribs. He imagines it as his favorite tune, a melody he cannot remember the title of, that he has played for Jongin in the empty music room of the high school where they have filmed _Spring Blooms in Winter_. It’s not a hard piece, or a famous one, but Kyungsoo likes it because Jongin has pressed him on the grand piano afterwards, stealing playful kisses while they laugh at each other.

 

Jongin is mouthing something on his skin and Kyungsoo’s heart breaks, shatter in to a million pieces, when he realizes it’s not Hwandong the other man is murmuring but Kyungsoo. He gives small sob and his hand loosens from where he is curling them in a ball, desperate, as he remembers their script. 

 

No one is supposed to say anything. 

 

Jiwon is not supposed to say anything to Hwandong. Jiwon is supposed to quietly yearn just as Hwandong does. Jiwon is supposed to kiss him silently, like he is in church. Jiwon is not supposed to be Jongin, who has called Kyungsoo’s name.

 

He hears Junmyeon say “Cut.” after he feels Jongin’s body detaching from him. Someone from the wardrobe staff rushes with their robes and Kyungsoo wraps it around himself. His hands are clumsy as he tries to tie the belt secure and he barely has that done before he hugs himself, curling as the tears do not stop. 

 

No one is saying anything, not even Jongin. Kyungsoo wants to run away. His feet take two steps before the heaviness and the lump on his throat stops him. He tells himself, _one last time, just one,_ as he turns around.

 

The air is knocked out of his lungs when Jongin’s eyes are staring directly at his, still slightly wet but there’s something like bravery on it too. Resolve. Kyungsoo’s legs buckle under him and someone barely catches him, righting him up. Jongin has always made him weak in the knees. 

 

The lights outside give him a glow that makes him look like a king, or a god, and he thinks stupidly and hysterical, that Jongin is the type of deity who is kind, who will give Kyungsoo that one more lifetime that he wants, maybe more, so he can be with his lover one more time. Maybe they will not be actors this time. Kyungsoo hopes they’re nobodies, schoolboy lovers. Maybe Kyungsoo will run into Jongin, spilling coffee on his clothes, and they will exchange numbers. 

 

He has a lot of maybes and he bites his lip, trying to stop a fresh sob from escaping, holding it inside. Kyungsoo wants another lifetime and in this, he wants a happy ending.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It’s almost midnight and Kyungsoo eyes are red around the edges when he runs into Junmyeon. The man looks disheveled, and there are bags on the thin skin underneath his eyes. He holds the director’s forearm, stopping him, and the older man looks at him in question.

 

Kyungsoo says, “Give the real Jiwon and Hwandong a different ending. Make yourself happy, Director Kim; who knows? Maybe you will never be in Marseille again.”

 

Junmyeon’s eyes widen and Kyungsoo almost laughs when the man sprints outside the hotel, nearly tripping.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Kyungsoo takes a deep breath and the salt of the seas mingle with the smoke of the urban area. The wooden bench where he is sitting is mercifully dry. City lights lining up the streets creates a beautiful landscape, morphing the darkness of the night into a living museum art piece.

 

His head rolls back and he looks up at the stars. There are barely any and he wonders if it’s because of the weather or because of the place itself. It reminds him of Seoul—pollution eating away the night lights on the sky as neon signs create artificial light to substitute what is missing.

 

The events hours before has long passed but the shivers it has given Kyungsoo are still present, still as real. He has taken a long shower afterwards and he scrubs his skin hard until it is an unhealthy pink and Minseok has threatened to bring the door down. Kyungsoo leans on the bathroom wall with his arms wrapped around his shaking frame as he sobs and sobs. He calls Jongin’s name repeatedly as the sound of the warm water hitting the marble floors engulfs the broken litany of his confessions, his secrets.

 

It makes him grin wryly, now, as he thinks about the same man and everything that has happened—beginning from that movie five years ago to the events of the early evening when they have lost the script and themselves into the sentimentality of the past. Kyungsoo feels like it is their first time again.

 

He has brought Jongin in his small apartment and they have barely fit on Kyungsoo’s small bed. Their hands have shaken when they tore the condom wrappers but the anxiety is covered up by their lips on each other’s skin. Kyungsoo has come with an I love you breaking off into a loud moan and Jongin has kissed him deeply afterwards, saying it repeatedly but truthful. 

 

A month after, Jongin has flown to New York out of the blue and Kyungsoo has stayed in South Korea. He has regretted it then, when he had watched Jongin walking for Chanel, his first runway. And he has regretted it every time. Kyungsoo has never missed Jongin in designer clothes, strutting down in between indifferent-looking people. He has all of Jongin’s magazines in a box at home, hidden in his small storage room. There are covers of him from Vogue, Elle, High Cut, Esquire, GQ but Kyungsoo also has the minor ones—the ones where Jongin has only appeared in between the pages like a beautiful afterthought.

 

Nostalgia is a side effect of disappointment.

 

“Kyungsoo,” a familiar voice says, echoing in the empty darkness.

 

He snaps his head upwards and sees Jongin standing there. The younger man is panting, hands braced on his knees for support. His hair is a mess and he is wearing dark sweatpants. His sweater is put on backwards.

 

Jongin is still the most beautiful person that Kyungsoo has ever seen.

 

He wants to ask ‘What are you doing here?’ just like he has done when Jongin has first appeared in the meeting room for their movie, when he so carelessly disrupts the manufactured peacefulness of Kyungsoo’s life from his mastery of avoidance, but what comes out instead is a gasp and a. “How did you find me?”

 

Jongin smiles at him, like he knows a secret, and he walks to where Kyungsoo is. He crouches in between Kyungsoo’s knees so he’s looking up at him. Kyungsoo bends his neck down and he knows this for a fact already but Jongin is truly a masterpiece in every angle.

 

“Five years ago, you told me you like visiting parks and sitting on their benches at night to watch the stars,” Jongin begins. His hands are cupping each of Kyungsoo’s knees but his fingers remain immobile. “I laughed at you because we were in Seoul and there were barely any stars on a good day.”

 

“Jongin, wh—” Kyungsoo interrupts but the hands on his knees tense up.

 

“You have to let me finish, Kyungsoo. Please.” Tears brim on Jongin’s eyes and Kyungsoo’s fingers twitch to wipe them away. Like a coward, he clenches them into fists. Jongin laughs, a watery, broken thing, commenting, “I think we have done a lot of crying ever since meeting up again.”

 

Jongin shuffles closer, not breaking eye contact. Bile once again rises on Kyungsoo’s throat but it is not as bitter as the catacombs containing everything that is Jongin-and-Kyungsoo.

 

“You need to know, Kyungsoo,” the younger man says softly. Kyungsoo strains his ears to hear the words over his heartbeats that sound more and more like bass drops rather than a small percussion. Jongin swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing, and adds, “I love you five years ago and I love you now, five years later.”

 

He takes another gulp of air and Kyungsoo bites his lower lip.Jongin continues, looking at Kyungsoo straight in the eyes, “I’ve always wondered if you now have that phonograph that you’ve always wanted and if you play LPs on it like you’ve told me you’ve always dreamed of.”

 

Kyungsoo’s breathing hitches because Jongin. Jongin remembers. 

 

With a gummy smile, the younger man recites, “Spring Blooms in Winter. Midnight Escapades. Room 7. The Cart. Underdog. With God. Hyerin. Seven Days in Love. The Emperor. You and Me in the Aftermath. The World was Built for Two. Walk on Memories.”

 

Kyungsoo is convulsing all over now. Those are the names of all the films and the dramas from the last five years—every single one of them. It begins with Jongin, punctuated also by the same man in a different role—from best friends to lovers, from teenagers to young adults, both stupid.

 

“I don’t know if they’re enough. God knows I know nothing, Kyungsoo,” Jongin admits, exhales a breath. His eyes look hazel under the brightness of the lamp post and his jawline seems more defined, sharper, like Kyungsoo will bleed if he touches it.

 

Kyungsoo closes his eyes and he sees red and orange and green. He listens to the waves roaring in his ears and he is sure now that they are not coming from the ocean near the port. Opening his eyes, he admits to himself that the brief moment of nothingness has caused him to miss Jongin.

 

“You love me,” Kyungsoo says. He sounds so spent, so tired. “But why did you leave me? Why did you do that to me? You asked me before, ‘Why will I break your heart, Kyungsoo?’, and I wonder too—why did you break my heart, Jongin?”

 

The sobs are back, breaking almost every word with a strong hiccup. Kyungsoo curls towards Jongin, bending down. And they’re close enough that the tears on his face fall down on Jongin’s skin until he doesn’t know if the younger man is also crying. Kyungsoo holds his chest with both of his hands, and he rubs it tenderly, trying to soothe the pain that is always there. Everyone always says that heartbreaks are over after it has happened but no one has definitely gotten their hearts broken by Kim Jongin. Kyungsoo feels the agony every second, in varying degrees of intensity. 

 

No one has loved the way Kyungsoo has loved Jongin.

 

Jongin closes his eyes as if he, too, is in pain, before he stutters out, stumbling over the words. “I did not love you enough.”

 

And that, Kyungsoo knows.

 

Kyungsoo has known it five years ago. But there is a different kind of lash, a different kind of scar, when the words come out of Jongin’s lips—the same plush lips that he wants to kiss, maybe in another lifetime, maybe now.

 

Kyungsoo tries to shake the man’s hold on his knees but Jongin digs his palms harder. He feels the fight leave from him and Jongin’s grip relaxes just as his head falls on Kyungsoo’s lap. The fabric of his pants are wet with Jongin’s dripping tears just as the man gets out, almost unintelligible, “I was selfish and I didn’t love you enough. I had something I loved more than I loved you but. Kyungsoo—”

 

A choked cry and a whimper, from either of them, from both of them, before Jongin continues. This time, he raises his head, his eyes are puffy and there is dark pink lining around them. “All I’m asking for right now is another opportunity, Kyungsoo. Another beginning. Please give me a chance so I can love you more than anyone, more than anything in my life. More than anything I have ever loved before.”

 

Kyungsoo cries, his words are muddling together in gibberish, “What if you never love me that much? Give me a good reason why I should let you again.”

 

He expects Jongin to harden his words, to show how serious he is, but Kyungsoo is startled, floored, when the man smiles—a soft and honest one—before admitting, “I already love you that way, Kyungsoo. So please, say yes. Make ourselves happy. We’re both different people now. And we’ll never be where we are right at this moment.”

 

Kyungsoo makes a sound in the back of his throat and suddenly, before he knows it, he’s standing up and pulling Jongin with him. He grips the man’s face in between his and there’s a dreamy whisper in his ears telling him to _do it_ —they will never be where they are right at this moment.

 

So he kisses Jongin through salty tears, tasting both of their sadness and their unease but also the relief, the _finally_ ,and says, “Yes.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The film theater is dark and Kyungsoo sits beside his co-star. His hand reaches for another in the dark and he smiles as they meet half-way. 

 

Jongin is also searching for his.

 

Kyungsoo turns his head to the side and he finds Jongin already gazing at him with _that_ smile, and _that_ look on his face—his favorites, the ones he has no name for, the ones he cannot describe. The younger man pushes his face closer and Kyungsoo does the same.

 

Jongin says, “Hi,” just as Kyungsoo does. Light chuckles escape from their lips and they smother the sounds with their intertwined hands. Their foreheads are pressed close together just as the beginning of the film shows on the big screen.

 

A teenaged Jiwon making a turn in the middle of an empty dance studio, eyes closed, that ends with an older looking Jiwon in the middle of a stage like a clock that turns alongside their story. Jongin and Kyungsoo close both their eyes just as Hwandong’s words spill all over the comfortable silence they share with each other.

 

_“This is a story of two boys who lost each other and two men who find themselves again so they can stop roaming the streets in the dark.”_

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heh... the story has us quite literally walking on memories ;)
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> [TWITTER](https://twitter.com/official_KJD21)


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